


All to Blame; Dying in Vain

by ProPinkist



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Angst, Claire has an existential crisis, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, and neither is Clive but that's a given, background LayClaire and platonic Clive and Hershel but they're not the focus, basically Claire is Not Okay, luckily the shining beacon that is Hershel is there :'), oh god I've become one of those people using edgy song lyrics for titles, panic attacks abound, probably inaccurate injuries, survivor's(?) guilt and victim blaming out the wazoo, the main newbie quartet in UF are all dysfunctional and at fault to different degrees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29009718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProPinkist/pseuds/ProPinkist
Summary: Claire finds Clive inside his fortress, bleeding and delirious, and tries to save him, while she comes undone.She's no hero, but it will have to be enough.
Relationships: Claire & Clive (Professor Layton)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	All to Blame; Dying in Vain

**Author's Note:**

> Alright sooo I've always been in love with Claire being the one to rescue Clive at the end of Unwound Future, and all the layers of their (messed-up) relationship that is only vaguely touched on in the game, mainly because they only have such a short time together... so I thought "let's make it Angstier!" because that's what you do. Claire is probably one of the best female characters in the series, and she's pretty much got it all together, but. you know. realistically she has a LOT of baggage, and I wanted to tap into that; hopefully it doesn't feel too ooc. lastly, please forgive the severe bungling of surface head wounds and early concussion symptoms, it's not great, I know; I never write about injuries and this is half of the reason why lol

_“Clive…!”_

The name came out breathlessly as Claire rounded the outside of the fortress, the sight of what lay inside flooding her with a cold _fear_ , colder than almost anything else _~~(aside from her own body; waiting, creeping, consuming—)~~_. “Are you alright?!”

It was a foolish question, as the prone figure lying in the darkness of the surveillance room appeared _anything_ but fine, and Claire practically _threw_ herself over the lip of the broken window, only half-minding the millions of fragments of broken glass scattered about. Other debris covered the floor as well, piles of rubble and still-sparking electronics and wiring, all surrounding its motionless, fallen owner, who made absolutely no move to save himself.

There was blood at her feet the moment she reached his side. Trembling, she crouched down, hesitantly brushing unkempt hair away from the large, gaping gash on his forehead that was the main source of the bleeding. His face was pale and drawn, showing no sign of consciousness, and as Claire began to pick various shrapnel and detritus off the rest of his body, revealing more and more cuts and wounds littered about, he still remained unmoving, to her distress.

“Clive, wake up _._ ”

She received no response. Fighting down panic, Claire shook him gently, anxious to not aggravate his head wound even more than it already was. “Clive, _p-please…!”_

After an agonizingly long time, he finally stirred, slowly and painfully.

“…ugh…… w-who—”

“Don’t try to talk,” Claire heard herself insist, pulling off her scarf and using it to mop away the blood still pooling from his forehead, pressing it against the cut as tightly as she dared. It needed to be dealt with, but there was no telling how severely he had injured his head internally as well, from being struck… “It’s me, it’s Cl – C-Celeste, from when we were at the Thames’ Arms. You were knocked unconscious and badly hurt, but we need to escape here _now_ before this place collapses entirely. Do you think you can help me support you?”

Another pointless question, it was painfully clear to see. Clive’s eyes were glazed over, his focus wandering, appearing alarmingly unable to recognize her. Claire felt similarly numb, distant, _breaking_ , as she bowed her head to his, hearing nothing but the pounding of her heart in her ears.

“You h-have to get out of here, Clive… You have to _stand.”_

Her hands were shaking, covered and covered and _covered_ in blood.

_~~(his blood. her blood. his from her. in spite of, no, **because** of her—)~~ _

“……because if you don’t, I don’t think I c-can—”

“—le’me die.”

Claire stopped short, jerked back to attention, her stomach _dropping_. The boy was now grimacing in pain, eyes shut tightly and quiet groans escaping his lips, as he writhed ever-so-slightly. It was admittedly more of a relief than his prior state, but all she could focus on were his words, dreading, _praying_ she had misheard, as much as she knew deep down that she hadn’t.

“Huh?”

“……jus’ leave me. There’s nothing left… f’me.”

Horror rose in her chest, but now alongside indignance, _rage_.

“That’s not _true_ …!”

Clive gazed at her wearily, eyes half-lidded. As if to prove her point, Claire wrapped the blood-soaked scarf around his head tighter, trying to ignore how _deathly_ pale he was.

“It’s _never_ too late for you to try to make up for your mistakes! There’s still so _much_ you have left to do, so much life you have left to live!” _~~All the life you’ve yet to live, because of all this, because of~~_ ~~us _—_~~

Such emotional outbursts were not her, as much as she had never hesitated to speak her mind. But then again, the last few months had been anything but _normal_. After weeks and weeks of worrying for London, disassociating, panic attacks, arguing with Dimitri, and watching him deteriorate worse than even she, well… To say that Claire no longer recognized herself was an understatement.

_(even Hershel hadn’t recognized the real her, after all… perhaps her soul had disappeared long ago, and she truly was every bit the ~~monster~~ living ghost she felt, anymore)_

A faint scoff. “…Life? In prison?”

“As long as you’re alive, there’s still hope. A _chance_ for you to forge a new path. _Nothing_ will be achieved by you dying here… _Anything_ is better… than d-dying.”

Her voice shook, cracked. Short-lived bravado died down almost as quickly as it had risen, as she fixated once more on the liquid, on the _red_ , gasping, trying to _breathe_ —

“Why d’you _care_ … so much...?”

Again, his words struck her. They were slurred and broken, barely more than a whisper, but filled with such bewilderment, such _aching_ , such a stark contrast from even moments prior, _infinitely_ more vulnerable than Claire had ever heard him speak in just the short, brief times she had truly known him, and learned far more about him than she ever wished she had.

Seeing him here, so hurt and so weak, perhaps inches from death, he appeared every bit the child that all his unfathomable genius and madness had tried so hard to conceal.

_(the child that had never grown up, the child that had died that day, just like everything and everyone else)_

_“Because…_ B-Because…”

_~~Because it’s my fault your family was lost, and that you fell so far, with no one to save you, no one to~~ _ ~~stop _you._~~

_~~Because time should never be interfered with, when it only leads to suffering for all involved, and for those who should never be involved at all.~~ _

_~~Because this is my~~ _ ~~punishment _, and this is the last, and_ only _, thing I can do, to try to make things right._~~

_~~Because I want you to **live** , want to ~~ _ ~~know _that you’ll live, even if I never know anything more._~~

_~~Because it’s not too late for **you** , and you shouldn’t have to follow me just because any moment now I—~~ _

“…I can’t just _leave_ you here,” was all she could manage, weakly, stupidly, _pathetically (a broken record only repeating the same, empty platitudes)._

“Even… after all this… _why_ …?”

His expression gestured all around them at _“all this”_ , voice more exhausted and aghast than ever. Claire closed her eyes, sensing the severe tremors of the fortress that grew more and more frequent by the minute, and took in a slow, deep breath, trying to steady herself, and _feeling._

 _It is not time yet, Claire. You still have_ time _… and you must make the most of it._

_(this wasn’t about her, right now, nor the rest of them: it was about him, and what he deserved)_

Gently, she pulled Clive’s head onto her lap, ignoring the trail of blood that followed, and feeling the sensation of his breaths, of his _life_ , beneath her hands.

_You are still here, right now. Now, you must help him, all of them, just as you have been._

_(her hands felt fragile, close to coming undone, but they were yet whole even so. That was enough._

_All that mattered was that she have the strength to carry him as far as it took, to save him, and his future.)_

“Because… so much of this is my doing. Was caused by my… _our,_ mistakes.”

_You owe him this much. You can be silent no longer._

For the second time that night, she hovered close to Clive, embracing him, protecting, as if doing so could say everything she wanted _~~(even though it made up for nothing)~~_.

“Your p-parents would still be _alive_ if not for our explosion, Clive. …And you are not the only one to blame… I too, am selfish, and w-want to save you, because it is all I can _do_ anymore to try to _repent_ … even if it will never be enough.”

Clive let out a muffled gasp, as wetness streaked her face. Her eyes burned with shame, with _despair_ , and the same endless guilt she had been wracked with every single day since arriving in this time, but that had never been so strong as today, when she had finally been faced with a direct victim of it all, who had suffered and created even _more_ victims in a way that she never could have _imagined_.

The entire city was in jeopardy, _countless_ people must have already died… and what had she done to prevent it? Why hadn’t she _done_ anything, _known_ anything, either in the last few months, or better yet, _ten years_ ago, so this horrific chain of events would never have come to pass?

Bill might have wanted to test the technology too soon, but no one but her had walked into that time machine, sealing her fate, and the fate of everyone nearby. And before that, she had helped _create_ that monstrosity, together with them. Even if the premature experiment had never occurred, who _knew_ what utter catastrophes might have struck not just London, but all of Earth, had they succeeded in securing time travel? How many more children would have lost their families, or even their own _lives_ , through whatever existential destruction was wrought, that would exponentially worsen the more people tried to abuse it?

_(how many more like Hershel would have been left all alone, with nothing but a lifetime of pain in their heart, and a final parting gift to cling to?)_

But it all came back to her, in the end. If she had truly wanted to abstain from being Bill’s guinea pig, she could have done so, and Dimitri would have defended her… and at the very least, as sickening as it was to admit, even if Bill had gone ahead with someone else, even if they had been unable to stop him, Dimitri likely never would have continued to pursue the time machine with her still alive, and so neither would Clive’s plan have existed. There had been a chance for him to be saved: if not before the explosion, then without the means to fulfill his revenge, with a partner who was nigh equally as desperate and single-mindedly obsessed with reaching his goal as he was… even if their desired ultimate outcomes _couldn’t_ have been more different.

It all could have been stopped, one way or another, and for all that she had tried to talk and all that she had tried to investigate, in the end, Claire hadn’t been able to do a _damn_ thing.

_(she had entered that time machine young, bright-eyed and foolishly naïve, thrilled to finally turn their years of passion into reality, and had come out a war-torn paradox, only half-alive, with nothing to show but the blood of ten people and infinitely more on her hands)_

“I-I’m so _selfish_ , Clive… I’m s-so, so _sorry_ —”

She smoothed his bloody hair away from his face again, silent sobs wracking her body as she continued to hold him tight, the world trembling endlessly beneath them.

“…I… I _want_ you to live, because I’m g-going to die very soon. And I c-cannot _bear_ knowing that I let you die being one of my final memories… You can curse me and loathe me to the depths of hell as much as I deserve, so p- _please_ , Clive? Please let me h-help you out of here, so that at least _someone_ from this tragedy survives…?”

 _(and then she would go back, and take time travel with her to her grave. It would make up for nothing, but if she had to be the one to bear the brunt of that burden alone, so that nothing like this_ ever _happened again, than she would gladly do so._

_As long as they could heal, she would be at peace.)_

Claire leaned back to gaze at him, foggy eyes widening and her heart all but stopped, as she belatedly realized that he wasn’t responding.

_“Clive…!”_

His eyes were closed and listless, his previous subtle twitches of pain nowhere to be seen. It was only the barely audible murmurs of discomfort, and the rise and fall of his chest, that told her he was still breathing.

“Hey, stay with me, don’t pass out on me…!” she ordered frantically, vision blurring further as she slapped his face lightly, cursing to herself, _terrified (why had she spent so long preaching, giving into her fear, lamenting over_ pointless _things, over_ herself _; nothing else_ mattered _if she let him die—)._ “I still meant everything I said earlier— I want you to live, for _you!_ It doesn’t matter how horrible your sins are; _anyone_ can work towards a better future, no matter who they are; can try to right their wrongs, and live a new, better life! You still have so much _time_ , Clive… a-and I want that for you…! I know you didn’t truly want to do all this, deep down; you _wanted_ to be stopped, if only someone had known to stop you!

“I saw you before, I watched you from a distance, both today and in the past few months with Dimitri, and I know you’ve suffered under the weight of your decisions, of your past… and I _know_ you can be kind… and that _that’s_ who you really are…!”

It was the same with Dimitri, she thought, her heart crying even more recalling what he had been like in the past, and how _different_ he was now. It had been such a jarring, _heartbreaking_ shock, seeing his aged, haggard, tired self, that seemed decades older than the single ten years she had jumped, so horribly changed from how bright and kind and full of _life_ he had been mere days ago, in her own time. Her death had devastated him, to a degree that she never could have expected in her wildest dreams, and it was no more evident than after he had first met her again, and was immediately consumed by unending _grief_ , in her arms, and had then buried himself even deeper into his obsession than before, with the knowledge that her life was now on the line, and there had been nothing that Claire could do to pull him out of it, no matter how much she reasoned, and pleaded, and _begged_.

Back then, she hadn’t known what Clive had been truly planning, as they had only spoken briefly, but she had been able to tell he too, carried a burden of some sort, though she couldn’t have ever guessed the magnitude of it all. He and Dimitri got along, in that respect… They had things in common, even if each of them had no idea of the extent of it.

If only they had _known_ , she and Dimitri. If only they had _realized_ what utter destruction Clive had kept hidden, had planned to doom them all, right under their very noses, because of his endless sorrow and rage that had festered for years upon years, unaided, with no one there to talk sense into him, before it was too late.

_(the Dimitri she knew would have saved him. The Dimitri who was gentle and caring and sensitive, who wasn’t consumed by his own personal madness, that fed into Clive’s, like a horribly twisted, dysfunctional cycle; the one who had pursued time travel to better others’ lives, instead of solely for himself, and for one long, dead soul who should have stayed dead, no matter how badly he may have wanted her back._

_If she looked hard enough back then, sometimes, somehow, they had almost seemed like a family.)_

“The person you were today, the person you’ve been twisted into slowly for years now… T-That isn’t _you_ , Clive. And I wish that I could see the _real_ you… I want more than _anything_ for you to have that second chance, for you to be the best person that I know you can be…!”

She wiped away more tears, the rumbling beneath them dangerously intense. Any moment now, it wouldn’t matter how much longer their bodies lasted. Desperately, every inch of her shaking with overwhelming grief and panic, Claire slowly pulled the boy into a sitting position, trying to drag one of his arms around her neck, shivering at the blood sinking into her hair and neck. “I… _refuse_ … to let you die here!” She didn’t know what she was doing, truly, without his help; there was no telling if she would be strong enough to carry him on her own… let alone with her rapidly deteriorating state.

But she had to try, had to do _something_. She would never forgive herself if she didn’t… if she didn’t make it back to them, to _Hershel_.

“ _Damn_ it, Clive… They _need_ you!”

Claire grit her teeth as she stared up at the ceiling, sobbing, _longing_.

 _(even just five more minutes with him, she would give_ anything _to have—)_

“Luke needs you… and the _Professor_ needs you! He needs you more than _anyone_ …!”

_~~(because there was no one else who could understand his pain **more**.)~~ _

And somehow, that was enough.

“—ro’fessor?”

Gasping, Claire’s gaze shot down towards the source of the voice, a cry of relief escaping her lips.

“Clive…!”

“…’ou’re stubb’rn,” he muttered feebly, still grimacing in pain. He sounded as exhausted as ever, but his dulled eyes were fixated on her once again, which was all that she could ask for, a miracle in of itself. “An’ wrong… so wrong, but…”

With a shuddering breath, Clive weakly tightened her embrace, pressing his face into her chest, sighing tiredly.

“…if he really wants me… Okay.”

Something in her heart ached, _shattered_. But Claire blinked back tears and nodded slowly, a newfound determination filling her, stronger than ever before.

“Alright. I’m going to try to carry you on my back, so try to hold if at all you can, okay?”

There was a weary murmur of agreement, and she didn’t hesitate a moment longer to bring his other arm up and over her shoulder, reaching down to grab under his legs as she attempted to stand, thankfully succeeding. Droplets of blood flew in front of her vision as Clive groaned in her ear, but the boy’s weight was surprisingly (and worryingly) lighter than she had expected, and Claire steeled herself as the grip around her neck grew tighter, a subtle reassurance, though she knew his strength was waning by the minute.

They both were nearly out of time. It was up to her, to get them back home safely.

“…Okay. To the Professor.”

_(to his home, that would never again be hers.)_

The journey to the window was not far, but seemed miles long, through the thunderous rumbling of the world crashing down around them, and the unending darkness of the night. Claire fought to keep her balance on the half-tilted floor, gripping Clive with all her might as she struggled to pull them both over the broken windowsill, desperately hoping that he hadn’t accidentally struck more debris on the way out. Smoke immediately filled her senses as they emerged from the fortress, standing on a narrow ledge above one of its massive legs, mere steps away from plummeting forever down to a prolonged, lonely, and miserable death.

Shivering, Claire slowly inched her way into a sitting position, leaning against the cold metal as she drew Clive around to her side, nestling him deep into her jacket, and shielding him from the elements.

“H-Hershel should be here soon… just a little longer, Clive.”

Her eyes stung as she gazed out towards the sky, feeling his pained, labored breathing against her chest, now covered in blood, silently praying for a miracle.

 _Please hurry, Hershel… Please let me save him, before he… Before_ I _—_

There was no telling how long she huddled there, holding him, hanging onto the nearby ladder bars for dear life, watching as London crumbled. The fortress was all that separated them from plunging into the abyss for as long as it stayed standing, but each and every continued, deafening crash signaled destruction of yet more of the city, more _homes_ , below, and it was all that Claire could do to look away as her stomach turned, curling up into herself, and into the _~~(murderer)~~_ boy in her arms.

With each passing second, more and more lives were being lost before her very eyes, and there was absolutely nothing at all that she could do to stop it.

_~~(and all that talk of true selves, and second chances, and~~ _ ~~changing _… it made her **sick** , _so _sick – why was she sacrificing so_ much _to pretend as if it were all true? Why must **she** pay the ultimate price, after all she had _discovered _for the world, while those two (no, three) stomped on her dignity, her research, her **love,** forcing her to bear witness to it all, while they got to walk away with their lives?_~~

_~~Why must she **die** , never to be remembered again, instead of **him** , instead of—)~~ _

Clive moaned pitifully in her ear. Claire listened to it numbly as red filled her vision, running her fingers over and over through blood unendingly, fighting back the urge to _vomit_.

After a long while, he spoke.

“…’don’t hate you.”

The voice was painfully quiet, barely audible over the wind. She wouldn’t have heard it at all had she not been so close, hearing and feeling every last breath.

“You were a victim… too.”

He sagged against her further, as if speaking took the last bit of his strength. Claire stared down, watching his face slacken, and his eyes close.

 _(how_ young _he looked; so very, very young)_

“…No… No, you can’t… you _can’t!”_

She pulled him even closer, holding tighter than ever before, _sobbing_ , as everything inside her wilted, filled with _shame_ —

“Please d-don’t… I’m so _sorry_ , Clive! _I’m sorry… for **everything** …!”_

_~~(too young to hate, not when there was too much else in the world worth hating.)~~ _

The sound of a propeller suddenly cut through her cries, and Claire’s heart _leapt_ to her throat as she looked up, seeing a familiar red car come into view.

“…Hershel…!”

The flying vehicle was on the ledge of the fortress in an instant, grinding to a halt as its driver flung open the door and rushed to their side, his eyes widening with concern as he took in the state they were in.

“Her— Professor, h-he hit his head badly.” She was trembling, coming _undone_ _~~(don’tthinkdon’thinkdon’tfeelitdon’t **feel** —)~~. _“He l-likley has a concussion, or worse; there wasn’t anything else I c-could _do_ —”

“It’s all right, Celeste,” the Professor reassured firmly, as he pulled Clive from her arms in one swift but careful motion, and somehow such simple words sent _relief_ coursing through her, as she watched him carry the boy to the car. “He will be all right; we shall get him down to ground and to help immediately.”

He laid Clive on the back seat as gently as he could, paying no mind to the blood that now stained his clothes as well, and despite everything, Claire believed him.

“…R-Right!”

Swallowing, she raced to follow as Hershel rushed back to the wheel, landing next to Clive and pulling her head into his lap, the car taking off without a moment’s hesitation.

In the brighter light of the city, Clive’s paleness stood out even more than before. He had lapsed into unconsciousness once again, and Claire watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as she held his hand, the rumbling of the propeller a constant, soothing presence. Hershel said nothing as he piloted, letting the silence speak for itself.

A few minutes into the trip, she turned to see the massive fortress finally fall far in the distance, Clive’s kingdom that he had worked so very hard for collapsing out of sight, into the crater leading to Future London.

“There it goes…”

_(and taking countless with it.)_

Breathing shakily, she glanced back to her lap, to Clive, to the blood. Fresh tears emerged as Claire gazed numbly at nothing, watching, waiting, _hoping_ , her body and mind a thousand miles away.

There was a sudden stinging in her hand, and when her eyes settled on it, she nearly forgot to breathe.

“We will save him, Celeste.”

She belatedly registered the professor’s voice. He was turned back towards her over the seat, his expression betraying the slightest bit of uncertainty, yet at the same time infinitely comforting, and gentle, and _true_.

It was all she could do to not _break_.

 _(he had no idea how much it_ hurt _, how much his_ kindness _hurt, that she_ needed _, that made her **yearn** —)_

“I j-just… I can’t, I _can’t_ —”

_(couldn’t let anyone else die, another **child** die)_

Her hand held the faintest hint of a glow. Hershel didn’t notice, as he reached out, placing one of his own on her, reassuringly.

“I know. I understand.”

 _(he couldn’t know,_ didn’t _know, didn’t know at **all** —)_

His smile was sad as he seemed far away, casting his eyes down, whatever he was seeing she could scarcely begin to imagine.

_(…but, he did, didn’t he? Perhaps even in ways that she had never, and would never, understand._

_She had always seen him as so strong. How cruel it was, then, that she be robbed of the chance to love him, through whatever pain he kept inside.)_

Claire couldn’t answer, looking away to the injured boy at her side as the flight progressed in silence, holding his wound and whispering soft, endless apologies.

As the car finally touched down to the street, chaos broke out all around, countless people at their side. The professor hurried out and around to the backseat, Claire moving into the crowd and out of the way for him to recover the ailing Clive, and police swarming them as the urgent order of _“he needs a hospital!”_ surfaced over the noise. A stretcher was brought out by sudden medical staff, as Inspector Chelmey barked orders from nearby, and the workers began to talk incoherently amongst themselves, already attending to Clive as they prepared to take him away.

From where Claire stood, she could see Bill Hawks gazing upon the scene with thinly-veiled disgust. On the opposite side, Flora held her hands over her mouth in horror, and next to her, Luke’s lips were pressed into a tight, thin line, the color drained from his face, as his coldness threatened to waver.

When she turned to glance at Dimitri, there was an endlessly unbearable, conflicted sadness in his eyes, so unlike the kind he spared for her, that she knew even he couldn’t understand.

_(she knew, because it was the same sadness she felt.)_

“He’ll be alright, Claire.”

There was a small sob as he reached behind her back, taking what was left of her hand. Claire gazed into the distance, committing the image there to memory, for as long as it would last.

“…I hope so.”

She watched Hershel lean over the stretcher, grasping the limp hand in his own, as his hat brim hovered over Clive’s head, in a familiar, delicate gesture.

_(such a gentle, forgiving heart, far better than she could have, and deserved._

_It belonged there.)_

Leaning against Dimitri, Claire smiled, as everything felt warm, and weightless, and bright.

_Perhaps they will, after all._


End file.
